Quantock Nightjars

For me there are moments in the natural history calendar that really suggest a season or a moment. First leaf burst in February, first swift in May, first bee fly in spring, the first seep call of redwing at night in autumn. There are many. I can add to these the first churring nightjar, which is for me a sign summer has arrived.

Generally arriving in this area of the Quantocks Hills in mid May nightjar will set up territories and begin their dusk churring soon after. There are a number of regular sites to hear churring in the South West, but my favourite is on the Quantocks. Last year we spoke to a local chap who gave me information about a nightjar lek which is a bit of behaviour I've set my sights on witnessing this year if at all possible.

Last night however Mrs Wessex-Reiver and I headed to this site, mainly as a reconnaissance as although we'd read of hesitant churring taking place this week it is still early in the season.

We arrived around 8pm, over an hour before sunset at 9.15pm. Sitting in the car having a bite to eat I thought I'd heard a brief churring down in the valley. But I dismissed this given the sun was still high and shining brightly. We did hear a cuckoo call though, our third or fourth in the Quantocks of this Bank Holiday weekend. On Saturday we'd completed a 7 mile circular walk starting very early in the morning from Hodders Combe. Close to Bicknoller post on the ridge not only did we hear a cuckoo but saw a male flying past. They really do look like a bird of prey when in flight. Later above Holford Combe we heard a male again plus the bubbling call of a female before she flew between the holly trees up there. The walk also produced a dozen or more green hairstreak butterflies warming up in the sun.

Returning then to the Nightjars. This site we come to has a handy picnic bench so we settled down with a flask and listened to a tawny owl. It was now 8.45pm and we had the place to ourselves. Shortly after I heard another very brief churring, I must look up if nightjar churr earlier in the day when they first arrive as this was another churr well before dusk. 

Eventually the sun set, an astonishing blood red tonight, and we moved off to a spot which proved very successful last year. It was successful tonight too.

The church bells in the village below sounded at 9.30pm. It was still reasonably light but moments after we could hear churring in the distance to our right. Not long after to our left a 'choowee' contact call, followed by a flap-clap sound then a male flew low out of the trees and right over our heads, which as it was still fairly light his white wing bars were very easy to see. He perched in a tree just behind us, and although out of sight, then proceeded with very loud churring for a good 5 minutes before another wing clap and silence. He'd moved off.

Churring began again in the distance so we walked towards it, realising there was another bird in a different direction. This confirmed at least two were present. One of these moved about the site quite a bit resulting in us ending up back where we had begun, once more listening to very loud churring by an unseen bird in a tree.

By 10.15pm the two birds were still churring but as it was getting dark at last we decided to walk back to the car. Once there, down in the valley below, we heard two more nightjar calling. This suggested at least four males in the area. Were there more?

That conversation from last year gave us information that between 10 and 20 males converge from their individual territories in the area and meet up to a high point nearby to lek. If this is true then it will be a sight and sound to behold. And going by tonight's encounter there is a good chance the number of nightjar here already will make this a good year. As a Sunday evening reconnaissance goes tonight's encounter was fabulous. June is next week when activity should peak. We will be back soon.

On The Right Track Glanville - Dorset Butterflies 2

It was rapidly becoming a wonderful week of butterfly watching. Following on from my trip to Giant Hill at Cerne Abbas where I saw the Duke of Burgundy butterfly,  on a very warm Thursday I headed in the direction of North Dorset. This would be my first visit to Compton and Clubmen's Down, a site I'd not known about before. It's around ninety minutes from home but if nothing else the view from the car park on my arrival was worth the drive.

Just a few miles outside of Shaftesbury, this chalk downland site nestles opposite the possibly more famous Fontmell Down, which is well known, amongst other things, for glow worms. I'd come to Compton Down after doing a little research on the Dorset Butterflies website one evening. Compton's name kept cropping up as one of the best sites in Dorset for butterflies. Arriving then at 11am on this first visit I checked the website for the latest sightings from the previous day - 20 Adonis blue, 2 small blue, 1 marsh fritillary and then hidden in full sight - 2 Glanville fritillary. Really?  Back in Somerset I live overlooking Sand Point where an introduced colony of Glanville has been repeatedly attempted, and where a few years ago I saw my only, very worn and tatty, Glanville. Although I've not heard of any recent sightings at Sand Point, I'd certainly not heard of Glanvilles being found outside of a couple of coastal sites in England and certainly did not expect it to be in Dorset. I checked earlier sightings and sure enough they were being regularly seen this week. What an opportunity, but where were they to be found on a massive hillside? The website suggested from the car park walk down the track for 300 meters and then enter the reserve. I had no idea where I was heading but down the very promising track I indeed went.

The first butterfly in the bag was a speckled wood, then a couple of brimstones, an orange tip, and a pair of green veined white. A little further on a worn blue butterfly floated by but at a speed where I couldn't be certain what it was, assuming (incorrectly I fear) a common blue. And then a dingy skipper flew into view. Not bad for a few paces down the cow parsley-decorated track. 

Eventually I noticed a gap in the hedge where there were a few steps up to the hillside, and a gentleman coming down. Politely waiting for him to reach the bottom we had a brief chat as he drew close. "What are you looking for?" he said "Anything really, I'm trying to learn as much as possible".  A conversation then took place. In summary,  the hill is very good for marsh fritillary, he'd just counted 5 or 6 by the hedge, but suggesting, however, as this was my first visit I should have a look along the track bank from where we were chatting and downhill for a while. That's where the Glanville are. A little local knowledge is wonderful and it transpired he had been to this site for the first time himself yesterday, returning today to try and obtain additional images of the Glanville, of which he said 6 individuals had been seen yesterday. He offered to show me where he'd seen them so we set off slowly looking along the trackside bank.

And then the fun began. We'd gone a couple of paces when a stunning blue butterfly wafted by, then another, and another before getting my eye in I noticed a dozen or so drifting back and forth across the bank - "They're all Adonis blue" he said, "they'll be all the way down this slope, keep a look out for small blue as well" He wasn't kidding, half a dozen small blue flew back and forth in the next ten minutes, but our smallest blue butterfly was overshadowed by the Adonis blue. The Adonis were literally everywhere. I'd seen these vibrant blue males before but only in ones and twos. Here, today they were flying around us, behind us, in front of us perching on grass stems for what seemed ages and generally providing a butterfly spectacle I've not experienced before. Most were males with a smaller number of females.

They were so confiding. I tallied up when back home in the evening, I'd taken 148 images along this one track, trying to obtain the golden image. I never quite managed that but some here are okay in my view.

We'd been watching these butterflies for around half an hour now while slowly moving down the track. "There must be over 100 here " I suggested. There was a pause - "Nearer 200 possibly and when you go up on the hill there are about the same number on the lower slopes." He could be right as even in the small area directly in front of me I counted nine perched on the vegetation. There were so many we stopped taking images and simply carried on watching the Adonis in a trance-like state, all the while secretly hoping the Glanville would make an appearance stage right.

Reaching the end of the grass and flower covered part of this south facing bank, which I'd guess was no more than 100 to 150 metres in length, we noticed a mating pair of Adonis right beside us. Impervious to our presence they carried on while we voyeuristically snapped away. 

Around this time another lepidopterist arrived, however it turned out he was doing research into, and filming of, the five spot burnet moth of which we'd only seen a couple. "Looking for the Glanvilles" he said as if the Adonis spectacle in front of us was so passé. "There were a number of them right where you are yesterday". It felt like one of those fishermen stories - suggesting greater things if I'd only been here the day before! "You might also see green hairstreak here" he added, "as they use this shrub as a territorial perch" (pointing to a pathetic specimen of a hawthorn).  We thanked him as he headed a little further down the track searching for the eleven burnet moth cocoons he was keeping watch over. We never did see the green hairstreak.

His departure created a void, probably then the Glanville had gone, so my guide and I stood there simply watching the Adonis and chatting away, although I realised later I never knew his name.

"Have you seen the Adonis on the poo" my new-found friend said. I hesitated in my negative reply fearing this may be some trick question for a " he's not from around these here parts" journeyman lepidopterist like myself. "Come with me" he said and we walked a little further down the slope. Sure enough some expertly positioned poo was covered in Adonis. We watched this behaviour for ages, and at one point we counted between ten and 12 all taking whatever the mineral was they needed. As a spectator sport it leaves something to be desired, as a fascinating insight into butterfly ecology it was pure gold.

It was while intently watching this behaviour that out of the corner of my eye I noticed an orange brown butterfly on a stone, not 10 feet away. "Is that the Glanville?" I said.  And it was. Perched on a stone that we'd either walked past or it had just arrived unnoticed. What a beautiful specimen it was too in this sunlight. Cameras positioned, we attempted that award winning image, it flew off, as I now know is normal butterfly behaviour as soon as a camera is used. But it flew only for a few feet before landing on a buttercup literally by our feet. Never in a million years did I think as I set off this morning I'd see a Glanville fritillary in mainland England. This pristine adult was stunning.

Mr five spot burnet man reappeared next to us on his way back up the track. "Oh you've found one then?"  It turned out the larvae had been first reintroduced here in 2018 by someone unknown (I suspect though he knew), and then again in 2019 and 2020. Then the covid-19 lockdown prevented visiting and recording but in 2021 it was assumed but not confirmed that breeding had taken place as adults were on the wing two seasons after the last introduction. Adults were again seen in 2022 and this year more than ever have been recorded - possibly as many as 10. But why here? Well Glanvilles have a specific lifecycle and while ribwort plantain their food plant is plentiful here, this plant also needs exposed disturbed areas for it to flourish away from dense ground cover, and therefore for the Glanville to succeed. The books note Glanvilles are found mainly on a couple of coastal sites where regular erosion happens, principally the Channel Isles and the Isle of Wight. Historically they were also found in worked woodland and short turf downland. It seems a reasonable leap then to find them doing okay on this site where there is a similar arrangement. A farm track with bare chalk due to vehicle activity and just over the hedge the down grassland is managed by cattle which ruffle and kick up the thin turf exposing soil and chalk. The site is also full south facing so ideal for this warmth-loving butterfly. With breeding assumed to be happening it suggests this is a good habitat for them. Though whether the Glanville will remain here long term remains to be seen. But what a find though.

I realised that I'd spent nearly an hour and a half standing on this track in baking hot sunlight with the man with no name. I'd not yet set foot onto Compton Down itself where I wanted to now try and see some marsh fritillary. Saying my goodbyes to my new-found friend, who gave me further excellent instructions, I headed back up the track through the gap in the hedge and into the reserve itself, where immediately there were Adonis blue everywhere once more.

My instructions were to walk along a cattle path by the hedge, itself on top of the farm track bank I'd just been standing on, until I reached the field corner. The marsh fritillary would then be easy to to find. 

Walking along this cattle track the grassland each side was, aside from small and Adonis blue, alive with grizzled and dingy skippers and small heath. Eventually I reached the point mentioned and there they were, at least three perched at different times on a grassy tussock or other raised bit of vegetation. They were quite active coming and going to these prominent perches which made taking photographs relatively easy. I was doing my best to notice the wing markings for future sightings when checking the time I realised I'd spent twenty minutes here not moving much. The afternoon heat was beginning to take its toll. I needed to return to the car and find some shade, but not before looking once more for small blue butterflies on the bank as so far I'd not managed a decent image. 

In many ways I was reluctant to leave this beautiful downland, it was quiet, I was the only person there, and like everywhere this spring the hawthorn blossom was outstanding. But leave I now must  and headed back to the track to look for the small blue.

It only took a moment to again locate these tiny butterflies on the wing, I didn't count them but they were regularly flying back and forth along the farm track bank as they had been doing since my first arrival well over two hours ago. However being so small and agile they easily disappear from view. I still did not manage the image I wanted, but it was fun watching them flit between or alight onto grass stems.

I'll finish with this image below, a right place and the right time capture. Focussing on a male small blue I took this shot just as an Adonis barged in to chase it off. And for me this was a perfect end to what had been close on three hours being enthralled and entertained by butterflies on a chalk downland. 

As I headed back to the car Mr five spot was in a field filming something. I never did find out exactly what he was doing but it was intriguing. And that has been my abiding memory of this week - meeting really friendly butterfly observers who were keen to offer advice, but only if asked for, to this trainee lepidopterist. It has taken me nearly 60 years to be hooked by butterflies, I've a lot of catching up to do.

Mr. Vernon's Small Fritillary - Dorset Butterflies 1

 As one William Shakespeare said “We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.” 

Of course the Bard was referring to superficially beautiful beings with no substance or purpose. Whereas as I have a week's leave and as the weather has turned sublime I am purposefully on the quest for Mr Vernon's Small Fritillary. Or as it is now known, the Duke of Burgundy butterfly.

I had to look it up. I came to this part of Dorset in the spring of 2013. Then I was with Richard Fox from Butterfly Conservation and the irrepressible presenter Dylan Winter. We were here to record a piece for the Radio 4 series Shared Planet and this particular episode I produced had as a theme Fragility and Niche. Which was why a decade ago we had arrived at the Cerne Abbas Giant Hill to record a field piece to illustrate the precariousness of species survival in a crowded human landscape. 

[The episode is still available on line here : https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b03dsk4n ]

At the time we saw a few Dukes, all found by Richard, but it surprised me then how small they were. A grandiose name for a very small butterfly. 

The act of producing a programme essentially involves becoming an expert on a subject for a week then forgetting everything.  Midway between these points there will be a recording usually on location. As the producer I'd be there but concentrating on what people are saying through headphones rather than being fully involved with the surroundings or what's happening. Once recording is over I'd then head back to the office, no time to stop. I vowed then to come back to this hill and, without editing timescales or deadlines, to look for Dukes myself in a leisurely way. That vow somehow took a decade to be realised but on Monday May 22nd 2023 I arrived with my camera, a small picnic and the excitement of exploring a huge hillside better known for its outrageously fertile giant.

Oddly it is virtually impossible to see the Giant carved into the chalk from the hill itself. The climb begins by crossing the river Cerne over the 14th century Kettle Bridge, then through a lovely old gate and into a small wooded area before a number of steps up onto the lower slopes, which on my visit opened out from the trees into a vista of chalk downland on a hot sunny spring day. Expectations were high. 

The one thing I did remember from the programme was that the Duke of Burgundy's natural habitat is coppiced woodland and they were once widespread across England. With the demise of coppicing their population declined rapidly so now they are a threatened species in Britain. As a result Dukes were forced to adapt to a lesser habitat of mostly southern England chalk downland and short grassland at a few other locations. Lesser in that the primrose and cowslips on the downland are prone to drying out in the summer exactly when the larvae need that for food, though with climate change they may benefit from warmer and damper summer weather. 

Previously the adults would fly in sheltered sunny woodland glades and therefore on this grassland they will only be found on the lower sheltered slopes, near the cowslip and primrose the larvae need, and tussocky grass from which the males fly up to defend their territory. I'd also remembered that the best sightings on this site were further away from the entrance. Time for a walk then. 

The first few butterflies encountered were a tatty tortoiseshell and quite a few common blues which were proving impossible to photograph, not helped by the gusty wind. This was a minor inconvenience as being on this hillside was an uplifting experience. Only a couple of other butterfly watchers about but on this Monday morning it was quiet, other than the incessant call of a yellowhammer which was a particular highlight, as was the hawthorn blossom. All across the West Country this year, and maybe elsewhere, hawthorn blossom has been the best I've ever known it. I'm assuming the cold snap we had delayed bud burst which then, when the sun emerged a week or so back, synchronised everything and the hedges, fields and hills looked as if they were dotted with snow white pom-poms - a spectacular sight providing dazzling delight in the sun. But back to the butterflies.

If I'm truthful I will admit to not being a butterfly expert in any sense. Yes I can identify a number of species but know precious little of their ecology. And that's a shame, as there are under 60 regular species in the UK. How much I have missed out not learning about so few species. As my week's leave approached my plans changed and so I decided to rectify this lack of butterfly knowledge and spend a few days in Dorset simply watching and learning, and in doing so I made my first error. 

Initially I thought the two images below were female common blue - I'd read the books. Common blue male looks blue and female looks brown (I've simplified this a little). I'd seen a lot of common blues on the sheep track to find the Dukes, taking many images as I slowly walked along, and my mind said common blue female. However later in the evening going through my ID guide, I'm reliably informed (and will be chastised by readers) this is a brown argus. I thought it showed too much blue on the body for an argus, but working all this out has somehow got me hooked, I need to know more. 

Saying that, I could identify the male common blue (below) and a handful of the other species wafting by in the breeze today, speckled wood, large white, orange tip and brimstone which were reasonably abundant by the hedge at the bottom of the hill, as was a single red admiral. 

However on the short grassland I kept seeing small beautifully marked butterflies, some brilliantly so, others more subdued. Suddenly deep in the recesses of my brain the words skipper came to me. I've seen these before with others more knowledgeable but I'd not really properly taken in what they looked like. On my visit there were two species on the wing, dingy, on the left here, and grizzled, on the right. What lovely little butterflies they are and being so abundant I could study the marking and the behaviours with a relaxed air of one who knows - absolutely nothing. They loved perching on the salad burnet.  

And yet, much as this was entertaining I had come to see a Duke. Walking to where I thought the Dukes may be I had a conversation with a proper lepidopterist - binoculars, baggy shorts, big camera and a khaki floppy hat. He pointed me to roughly where to go and also told me they were on the wing. I now knew they were flying, but there's no guarantee of that even this late in May, their normal flying period, especially this year after this cold spring has held a lot of emergence back. He also let me know that up on Telegraph Hill (a private access reserve opposite the Giant) they'd counted 20 on a field trip the previous Saturday. He suggested between 4 and 6 were on the Cerne Hill today - not many then in this vast landscape. One would be enough for me, and in the end I found two - possibly a third but that may have been one of the other two returning.  

I now found myself about half way along the hillside and below me a really sheltered spot between low shrubs and bramble there lay a grassy area, which on closer inspection looked trampled - possibly by lepidopterist feet. Down I went. Initially nothing moved other than an orange tip and a whacking big hornet. It was getting really hot now so I sat down and had some of my picnic. It was at this point a Duke shot past. I knew instantly it was what I'd come to find and although it then disappeared I found myself silently whooping for joy. I sat a bit longer and after ten minutes it returned and alighted on a buttercup, to then be joined by another which caused a rumpus and they spiralled into the air and away.

Eventually one came back and alighted on a grassy tussock. Having observed it for a while I tried to take a photograph, at which point it flew off. And this was the cat and mouse chase we danced for the next half an hour, until I finally managed a half decent image. I was overjoyed and what a beautiful insect, though I never saw the two together again.

Having mentioned the Duke's previous name in the radio programme I'd produced, I did some reading up on this species discovering that it was in the 1700's that this butterfly was first named Mr. Vernon's Small Fritillary after the man who found it. I've yet to discover much about Mr William Vernon who was a serious collector under the patronage of Sir Hans Sloan and one James Petiver. Vernon travelled to Europe and the United States and sent specimens back for identification, by Petiver and interestingly  John Ray who is often quoted as the father of natural history and igniting modern ecology. 

The first printed reference to this earlier name was in 1699 within James Petiver's book (published between 1695-1703) Musei Petiveriani centuria prima-decima, rariora naturae continens (a systematic catalogue of wildlife).  Petiver was a member of the gloriously named Temple Coffee House Botany Club near Fleet Street in London, which at the time was a meeting house for those who studied, and traded in botany and entomology. Sometime in the early 1800's the name was changed to the Duke of Burgundy fritillary. Why the change is debated still, today however as this butterfly is not a fritillary, it is simply know as the Duke of Burgundy. I've digressed again.

I decided to leave the Duke to its habitat and head off and to be honest the rest of the walk along the base of the hill was quite uninspiring butterfly wise, though I did spot this which I am to believe is the day-flying Mother Shipton moth. A nice cinnabar moth effectively ended my visit here.

It was getting really warm on that hillside on my way back so I stopped for a while to finish off my picnic, simply to take in the view. The wind was quite strong now, presumably temperature related and enhanced by the slope, meaning there was little if anything flying now other than more dingy and grizzled skipper. Somewhere also a song thrush sang continuously. It was a great end to a momentous day.   Little was I to know then I'd return in 48 hours.

Dingy skipper

Grizzled skipper underwing and topside below

Having got home in the evening on Monday and spoken about the joy of finding my first Duke, Mrs Wessex Reiver reminded me she had a day free on Wednesday and she'd like to see them and go for a walk. And that's what we did. I had one quest that Wednesday to try and take a better photograph of the Duke, then go for a walk. On this second visit we didn't get to the hill until nearly 1 pm and had the place almost to ourselves, which is amazing for a worldwide tourist spot. Following on from Monday's encounter I went straight to the place I'd seen the Duke, and to my amazement one arrived minutes after we'd sat down to wait. Repeatedly this individual settled, flew off and returned to the same area, onto his tussock of grass for a good twenty or thirty minutes.  So tame was he that both Mrs Wessex Reiver and I sat down next to it and watched all his activity close to. What an absolute privilege to see one of Britain's rarest butterflies so intimately.

It was time to say our goodbyes and off we went up the hill. I've never walked up the Giant's hill but the views are superb and it was a good release of pent up adrenalin to not be staring in awe at the Duke.

Path on the left up from the hill bottom and then along the ridge towards camera

Wonderful Dorset views from the Wessex Ridgeway

The Giant is now fenced off. And that drop was STEEP!

It is hard to describe the moment this week that I realised that watching butterflies in baking heat really appeals to me. I used to record radio programmes involving the great butterfly man Matthew Oates and he said to me once why he watched butterflies. 

"With birds you have to get up before dawn and crash about in the half light to get the best views and remain still and silent. With butterflies I can have a leisurely breakfast, head off mid morning, maybe sit on a hill, or in a woodland in a deck chair with bottle of wine if observing purple emperors, or listen to the cricket test matches on a portable radio while slowly walking along watching butterflies, before then returning home in time for an early tea"

I think I have reached an age where sitting with a glass of wine observing wildlife is quite appealing. It has me hooked and what I didn't know on that Wednesday was that on the following day I'd return to Dorset on my own and see over 100 Adonis blue along one track. That however is for a future posting.

The Diminutive Wildflower Meadow....

I have what can laughingly be described as a wildflower meadow. But it works. In the middle of the circular lawn in our small semi rural garden, over the last five years I've developed this meadowland. I say meadowland but in reality it is a 2m circle of not cutting the grass until August with additional planting. 

The planting here is a mix of naturalising garden bulbs, snowdrop and crocus first, followed by daffodil and tulip. Lesser celendine, primrose, dandelion and cowslip are also present and encouraged. Later in the year fox and cubs will dominate before the grasses overtake everything. This year I was thrilled to see my alba fritillary in flower. This was especially joyous as I bought 12 dried shriveled corms last October for 50p, mostly as I don't like to see garden centres throwing out unsold stock. Despite these dessicated specimens looking truly dire, I planted them and crossed my fingers.

Of the twelve corms planted seven flowered. I'm hopeful then they will survive in the heavy clay, though not waterlogged, soil under the lawn.

Despite its insignificant size I love this little slice of unkempt in the garden, it changes by the week. To be honest the entire garden is wildlife friendly as Mrs Wessex Reiver being a professional plantswoman is of the organic persuasion. As am I.

The longer grass allows a small yellow meadow ant (Lasius flavus) colony to exist. Their soil 'molehill' is on sunny days alive with activity as the ants emerge from underground. Snails of all differing shapes and colours love the cover and humid vegetation too, a topic maybe for another day. But it is the accidental finds that enrich this corner of Somerset's biodiversity.

Yesterday after watching a little of the Coronation we spent an hour or so fettling the garden. It was while doing this I noticed a pair of orange bugs upto naughties in the long grass. I had an inkling what they were but thanks to the power of Google Lens, which is an amazing bit of technology, they were confirmed as cinnamon bugs (Corizus hyoscyami). I've never seen this bug species in the garden before. Difficult to photograph in situ so after they'd ahem finished I tried to do better by placing them in a plant saucer. Not great but enough to identify them. I then returned them.

I'm no entomologist so reading up on these beautiful looking bugs I noted that until recently they were localised in sandy habitats around the coasts of southern Britain, but recently (climate change?) this species range is expanding north and into an eclectic mix of habitats inland. So that's why they're in my garden. It's an eclectic habitat! And they weren't the only recent arrival to the garden.

Earlier in the week I stood admiring the cowslip,  which from one self seeded plant three years ago now number around a dozen. On one stem was a jewel-like blue beetle, resembling a dark blue marble with legs. Various ground beetles went through my mind but I had a notion this was different. 

And it was. Thanks to my go-to encyclopaedia of all British wildlife, Brett, he confirmed what I'd half thought; (Agelastica alni), the alder leaf beetle. Wow. I say wow as this beetle was thought extinct in the UK. Then in 2004 it was found in Manchester, seemingly brought in on plant stock imports. From there it slowly spread across the north midlands, before being found in a second area in southern England around a decade ago. It is spreading.

Brett informed me there is a very healthy population on the Somerset Levels where there is unsurprisingly a large number of alder. As they fly he suggested, despite no alders being near our garden, the one on my cowslip would be flight-resting between alders. Fascinating.

Definitely a first for the garden. I've not seen it since that day, assuming therefore its onwards travel to an alder has taken place.

But all this goes to show, a tiny bit of wild meadow even in a small garden can attract the most interesting of discoveries. I wonder what the next rarity will be? Osprey maybe on the 40cm pond?